Wallace Compton rested on the sofa, legs crossed, puffing on a cigar.

In the hall, a man was there, his left arm amputated, lying on the floor.

No one could tell if he was dead or alive.

With a slight gesture from Wallace, the man was startled awake by a splash of cold water.

“Boss, I’m sorry…” the man pleaded for mercy in a hushed voice.

Wallace gazed at him with a faint smile.

He aimed the sharp blade in his hand at the man’s knees and questioned, “Have I explained the consequences of betrayal to you?”

“Boss, it wasn’t me, I swear! John set me up… It was just a mistake…”

“And that’s why you lost an arm.

Got any problems with that?”

The man kneeling on the floor, shaking and pale, stammered, “No, no problems at all.

Just… please don’t kill me!”

Wallace’s reputation for brutality was well known.

He wouldn’t let any threat go unpunished.

Understanding his fate, the man kept bowing, begging for mercy.

turn against you, I

wouldn’t dare cross

trapped you, and I’ve already

it at that,” Wallace said, flicking his cigar into the

to his

he doesn’t lose too much blood

“Of course, Mr.

Compton.

the man struggled

“Thank you, boss.

Thank you…”

Bang!

his gratitude was cut

a hint of emotion, shot him

went wide, and he collapsed onto

carpet and signaled to the people dressed in black outside

“Mr.

group’s bold enough

like they’re up

to Jarvis and

not lay

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